


i will love you: steve/tony edition

by anthotnio



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Attempt At Cooking That Turns Out Well, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Latine Tony, M/M, Sick Tony, Sickfic, Tony Stark Needs a Hug
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-25
Updated: 2020-03-27
Packaged: 2020-07-19 06:47:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,493
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19969756
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anthotnio/pseuds/anthotnio
Summary: A series of unrelated Steve/Tony drabbles/ficlets/fics as requested/prompted by my followers on myTumblr; each chapter will have tags/content warnings at the beginning notes.





	1. champurrado

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony is sick. It's up to Steve to make him feel better.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Tags/Warnings:** Fluff, Sickfic, Attempts At Cooking That Turn Out Well, Sick Tony, Tony Needs a Hug, Latinx Tony, Established Relationship

Steve frowns at the pot quietly boiling his champurrado attempt - a mix of cocoa, flour, cinnamon, nuts, milk, and something called piloncillo that resembles honey when it’s mixed with a little hot water. He's pretty sure he followed Mrs. Carbonell’s recipe to the letter. However, it’s difficult to know if his attempt is actually successful since some ingredient specifications were, uh, missing. But you have to do what you can with what you have, right? Besides, if Steve recalls correctly, Tony once mentioned that this lack of specifications are something a little common among Mexican mothers (something that surprised Steve, since he thought it would be quite the opposite). María probably knew the recipes by heart, and just didn’t actually need the recipes that she wrote.

Steve turns the stove off and proceeds to carefully fill Tony’s favorite mug with the hot beverage. He takes a sip, the warmth scalding his tongue but not enough to hurt, and smiles to himself. It isn’t as bad as he thought it would be if he’s being honest. Probably has a little too much cinnamon, but then again he’s never made champurrado before, and while it isn’t as good as Tony’s, it’s certainly close to the real deal - he can’t help but swell with a bit of pride. 

The strong smell of Vicks VapoRub greets him when he enters the bedroom. It doesn’t usually bother him, especially with how often Tony uses it even when he’s not sick. But this time around, Tony literally coated his entire chest with a thick layer of vaporub, making the smell stronger and kinda unbearable, at least for Steve’s sensitive nose.

Tony is lying in their bed, looking up at the ceiling with a frown, which deepens when he sniffs annoyed at his current situation. Steve smiles sweetly at him. “How do you feel?”

“Como mierda,” Tony grunts, throwing Steve for a loop. (‘Como mierda’? Doesn’t it mean ‘like shit’? Or is Steve wrong? Huh. He should probably look that up later.) 

Tony notices Steve’s confusion, and the motherfucker openly smirks at him, chuckling softly. And okay, that’s definitely a one-up he has on Steve, but Steve’s now learning Spanish too. Soon he will understand his husband when he babbles in other languages - and God, does Steve love how Tony can go on and on talking about his projects and schematics in Spanish. The passion and slight madness that flows off him warms Steve’s heart with love.

Tony closes his eyes and takes a deep breath that sends him into a coughing fit. His face twists in pain as he clutches at his chest. His hands fly up to cover his reactor, shielding it as if it would jump out of his chest when he coughs. (Thinking about the impossible possibility makes Steve's blood run cold.) Tony’s chest rises and falls heavily when a wheezing sound leaves his probably sore throat. 

Steve puts the mug on the nightstand and kneels beside his husband, not even trying to hide his worry. Tony notices, as he always does, and takes Steve's hand in his. Steve’s chest tightens. 

“Hey, it’s okay, mi amor. I’m okay,” Tony says, his voice raspy. He’s absentmindedly rubbing circles on the back of Steve’s hand, soothing the worry overflowing Steve’s senses. 

Steve doesn't know if he wants to laugh or cry; he should be the one comforting his husband, not the other way around. He knows he’s being silly. Tony having the flu isn’t and never will be how his husband will go down. That’s not even an option. He’s pretty sure Tony would even try to fight against the flu if it came down to it. But even though he’s aware of all of this, he can’t help but worry. He knows what being sick feels like.

Tony's smile is genuine, despite hiding a deep sadness that you wouldn't notice had you not known him for a long time. Trying to lighten the mood, Tony squints at him, slightly raising his head from his pillow and turning to stare at the steaming mug sitting on his nightstand, “What is that?”

Steve blushes, suddenly nervous. “I, uh, I made you champurrado.”

Tony raises an eyebrow at him, a soft smile playing on his lips. Steve bites his lip, and sighs before he reaches for the mug. Tony immediately lights up when Steve hands him the warm mug, curiosity shining brightly in his chocolate eyes. He takes a sip and hums quietly to himself, a frown settling on his face as he silently judges the drink. 

“I found your mother’s recipe, and I thought it would be nice, y’know?” Steve says, trying to explain himself. Maybe he overstepped a boundary or something, and just thinking about it makes him queasy. Was it a secret family recipe? Should he have waited for Tony to teach him how to do it? What if he actually fucked it up? Or-

“Oh, Steve, this is so sweet.” Tony whispers under his breath, his glazed eyes never leaving the mug. “It’s been a while since someone made me champurrado.”

Steve sighs internally in relief, “Is -is this okay?”

“God, it’s more than okay,” Tony takes a long sip, smiling widely when the drink leaves a foam mustache over his own. Steve returns the smile with a blinding one of his own, warmth spreading through his chest. “Seriously, this is really, really good. A little too much cinnamon, but good.”

The last comment makes Steve laugh, and Tony laughs along with him, “That’s exactly what I thought.”

“Well, now you know for next time.”

“Next time?”

“Yeah, you’re officially on champurrado duty from now on.”

Steve rolls his eyes fondly at his husband, “Yours is way better.”

Tony shrugs. “I know. But I’m lazy, and I love when you cook for me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you wanna request a fic with a pairing of your own liking, you can [submit your prompt here](https://dantewrites.tumblr.com/ask). If you want to support my work, [here's the post for you](https://dantewrites.tumblr.com/post/184142121766/support-me).
> 
> Thank you for reading!


	2. no light

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve finds something inside a cave, or perhaps someone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oof, it's been a while since I last posted anything on AO3, so here I am. This, and the next couple of Marvel drabbles I'll be posting during the next couple days, were written about a year ago, more or less. And, although I am no longer an active part of the Marvel fandom on Tumblr, I'll continue writing for it from time to time. 
> 
> I really like this particular drabble, though it's short. So I'm considering writing a full one-shot developing the idea more. Let me know what you think in the comments! And enjoy!
> 
>  **Tags/Warnings:** Fantasy/Medieval, Missing/Presumed Dead

Steve takes the shiny blue stone sitting on a rock in the middle of the cave. It’s cold to the touch, not like anything he’s ever touched before. It could be a piece of ice, but the weather in beach is always warm, and not cold enough to make the waters surrounding his feet turn into ice. He’s also sure ice doesn’t shine a light. Unlike this stone, which is very bright, shiny, luminous like all the small, brilliant dots that shine across the night sky.

_A heart._

A soft voice in his mind supplies, almost like an offer. Steve turns the stone between his fingers, leaving his sword resting against the rock raised in the middle of the cave. With care, he traces the small rigged parts, the white crystal veins that see an across the shiny, soft blue. It’s gorgeous.

_My heart._

Steve hears the voice again, surrounding him, and takes his sword back in hand, raising it in front of him. A warm breeze emanates from the depths of the cave, ruffling his hair and making his eyes prickle with the sea salt. At the very back, among the darkest shadows, stands a figure. It’s tall, but not taller than him, with shiny blue eyes whose light travels among the shadows, piercing into Steve’s soul. He can feel a gelid shiver run down his spine at the unnerving sight, but does nothing to escape from the shadow’s stare.

_You own my heart, now._

Steve knows that voice. His throat closes up, staring at the shadow. That voice- that voice shouldn’t be here. It can’t be. That voice is long gone, how can it be here? That can’t be-

“Who are you?” Steve asks, holding his sword firm and steady in front of him. He can feel his body shaking, his mind running a mile per hour.

The shadow takes one step ahead, it’s icy blue eyes melting into something warmer, brown, soft at the edges. Steve can’t stop staring, his heart beating wildly in his chest, his skin getting clammy and sweaty where he’s holding the sword - no longer steady - in front of him. The shadow keeps moving forward, the movements graceful, enticing. The figure - no longer a shadow - comes forward into the light, and Steve’s breath gets caught in his throat.

The figure is dressed in white, almost transparent silk. Covered in small crystals, like diamonds, spattered like stars in the night sky, their reflection shining brightly against the sun streaming into the otherwise dark cave, lies the figure’s soft tanned skin. On the figure’s wrists rest bracelets bathed in gold and silver, encircled with tiny stones just like the one Steve’s holding between his hands, among small writings in a language as old as the universe itself. There’s a concave golden circle, dipping into the middle of the figure’s chest, empty, yet dripping in gold as if it were blood. The figure’s face is passive, calm, a soft smile on the curve of his lips, his brown eyes still bright with the remnants of the electric blue they were among the shadows.

_You know who I am._

“Tony.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you wanna request a fic with a pairing of your own liking, you can [submit your prompt here](https://dantewrites.tumblr.com/ask). If you want to support my work, [here's the post for you](https://dantewrites.tumblr.com/post/184142121766/support-me).
> 
> Thank you for reading! And please stay safe!


End file.
